The Forgotten
by Ash to Dust
Summary: Post Day of the Moon, The Doctor has a dream that he can't quite remember. "I'm fine." I replied nodding before adding quietly because he hadn't noticed yet, "You're crying." First 11 fic!


**Because let's face it, that final scene was begging for the plot bunnies to take over. This will be a one-shot unless people want me to carry on :)  
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><p>The Doctor's had nightmares for as long as he can remember and he wishes he could forget them, every last one. But he can't and there are occasions when I think he can forget but doesn't simply because he's the only one who can remember. Being the last of your kind must be terrible. I've never really thought about it before but now I consider it I realise just how much of a burden he carries, it's no wonder he struggles to get any rest.<p>

Before tonight I'd only seen him actually sleep once, he's been knocked out plenty of times, a couple by me (maybe one day he'll forgive me for the cricket bat) and one horrible day he even slipped into a healing coma but simple, innocent sleep was a rare sight when it came to the Doctor. We'd all been exhausted after the last couple of trips (lets just say lots of running was involved) but when Rory and I had slipped off to bed the Doctor slid under the console and tinkered as he always did, fixing things that didn't need fixing, sometimes just lying there staring into the expanse of the ship that had become his home.

In those moments he looked every minute of his nine hundred years. But tonight when I went in search of a midnight snack because I couldn't sleep either, _flashes of green, orange light reflected on water, tears,_ I popped in on the Doctor to see if he wanted tea I can upon the strangest sight. There, on one of the chairs lay the Doctor, eyes closed floppy hair falling over his face, feet somehow balanced on the edge of the console, sleeping. He looked so _young_ asleep, all the lines and responsibility gone.

Hesitantly I moved forwards quickened my pace when the Doctor shifted, his face twisting into a grimace as a nightmare took hold. I reached out to wake him, knowing he would thank me later but when my hand touched his shoulder I _saw_. The Doctor's head was black and empty and silent and terrifying. I could fear his fear and his loneliness and just as suddenly I was flung into his dream.

_It's a street in America, dark, clearly night. A beggar is searching through an old trolley when he hears something we both turn and see a figure shuffling forwards, a child._

"_Little girl?" The beggar is talking to her, but when she lifts her head she looks so familiar and I just can't place her._

"_I'm dying." And her hands start to glow. I recognise it, how could I not? A flash of light and pain and for some reason I can feel the connection between the dream and the girl then another flash and_ real pain as my back slammed into the console.

"Amy?" I looked up and saw tears trickling down his face, so young and so ancient. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I replied nodding before adding quietly because he hadn't noticed yet, "You're crying." Startled you raised a hand to your face, looked surprised when it came away wet with tears.

"So I am," a pause, "why am I crying?" I remember all the times I asked that same question but I couldn't give him an answer because I didn't know either.

"You were dreaming." I suggested.

"Yes, I know." A distant look appeared on your face, "But I can't remember it." For one long moment the console room is silent, broken only by the sounds of the living machine. I can see the horrible irony of the situation, the Doctor has so many bad dreams and he can never forget them, but when he needs to remember, needs to know why it hurts, it's just out of his grasp.

"I saw it too." I murmured when the silent became painful. The Doctor frowned and moved closer, settling a hand on my shoulder and gazing into my eyes. After a moment he looked away.

"Mild psychic connection, my unconscious mind reached out to yours when you touched me, so whatever I was seeing I thought it was important. What can you remember?" I thought about the blurred memories of his dream.

"It was a little backstreet in America, and there was a beggar and…" The Doctor was searching my face but I couldn't remember anything else.

"And what Amy?" The Doctor prompted.

"I can't remember anything else."

"Yes, well, that's what dreams do; they slip away and hide in the corners of your mind." Frustrated you wiped away the tears and paced around the console. "There's something we still can't remember, something important, something to do with the Silence. Maybe it's someone they've used or manipulated and they're wiping them from our memories because they're still important, still needed." For a moment I saw the Apollo astronaut in the lake. "Any ideas?"

But I couldn't say because he couldn't know, River had made that much clear.

"Sorry, nothing."

"Oh well, go get some sleep, stuff to do, adventures to have, Sundays to avoid." The Doctor went around the console, once again slipping underneath, reaching into his pocket for the sonic. Shaking my head I headed towards the door looking back when I heard something sparking and saw it, a mark, circular and intricate on the Doctor's arm, half hidden under his sleeve. It looked like the language from the screen, the one the TARDIS refused to translate.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?" He slid out from underneath the panel slightly and I when I looked again the mark was gone.

"Nothing, night." He shook his head in confusion before going back to his work and as I tried to get to sleep I felt like I'd forgotten something so important. For a moment I saw a girl and the Doctor's skin marred by beautiful writing, so like the marks we had made when we had an encounter. Quickly I got up, scribbled the details down on the only available surface, which happened to be the wall and forgot.

The next morning when Rory saw the flowing circular patterns on the walls I blamed it on the TARDIS because neither of us could have written them; they weren't even in a language we understood. Together we silently accepted this as we so often had.

And then we forgot.

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><p>In a street in America the girl regenerated. She reached out her mind to the stars and found another like herself, she invaded his dreams and planted the images but she was pushed away by the darkness as always. She opened her eyes and regarded the Silent stood in front of her; she knew she hadn't changed, just healed, as always. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd reached this stage.<p>

But of course, she knew by now that it wouldn't be enough, the cycle would repeat until she was needed so she closed her eyes again and let the Silence take her.


End file.
